On A Rainy Day
by IvoryMoonlight
Summary: Hermione's ponderings on a rainy day and a surprising encounter. /"You never were superstitious, 'Mione."/ First HP fic so please R


**First attempt at HP fiction. Please be kind and leave a review. Pretty please?**

**It's either Fremione or Romione but while writing it I had Fremione in mind. I think it turned out a bit more too sorrowful than I intended it to be. I think I kinda lost it at the end so I apologize in advance for that.**

**So with no further ado, I give you _On A Rainy Day_!**

* * *

Hermione Granger lifted her head, fully facing the crying sky. It was raining. Again. Not an unusual phenomenon in England. She had gotten used to it long ago. She wasn't sure whether she liked it, even after all these years. Well, she didn't exactly hate it.

Or maybe she did? The humidity that followed a rainy weather caused her hair to flare up, resembling to a bush that had been burnt to the core. It looked hideous. And it was so very untamable. That was a good enough reason to make her dislike this kind of weather.

She frowned. She was certain her hair looked as if she had been electrocuted that very moment. Fred would have gotten a very good laugh out of this. Made a joke with his twin brother. Taken a few pictures of her while she would do her best to avoid them. Thank God they weren't around.

Her features relaxed, a blank expression suddenly creeping on her face. Was that really how she felt? Was she really glad they weren't around? She had gotten used to their naughty behavior, so the sudden peace and quiet that followed just a day of their absence was surprisingly uncomfortable.

She stomped her foot obstinately, pressing her lips in a thin line and shutting her eyes tightly. She couldn't keep on feeling this way. She just couldn't.

Well, you could say she had been a part of the Weasley family ever since she became a first-year student in Hogwarts so those feelings were normal, natural. And now, she was even about to be a Mrs. Weasley herself.

She smiled subtly at the thought and held up the picture she had been holding between her two fingers this whole time. That photo had been taken right after her fifth school year. It was a photo of her, Harry and the four Weasley siblings, Ginny, Ron and the twins, riding the train back home. Everyone was offering a bright smile to the camera despite the hardships that had been through and the ones that they were about to come. Everyone except her, that is.

She was sitting by the window, chin in hand as she supported herself on the window's ledge, a scowl distorting her usually cute face. She was glaring at Fred who was standing right next to her, back resting against the window, fingers entangled in bushy, light brown hair, pulling lightly at them and laughing goofily at how funny doing so seemed to him.

"Moron." She murmured disapprovingly and yet with a ring of longing to her whispering voice. She couldn't decid whether the adjective was addressed to him, for his childish behavior or to her, for how her heart had skipped at said behavior. What was so fascinating about her hair, anyway? That day too had been rainy. And that day too, the humidity had messed with her hair.

Right after the photo had been taken, she had jumped on her feet, pushing off her Ron who had been casually leaning against her and wouldn't get off even after being repeatedly pinched. Her hold on her book had strengthened severely and said book had been used as a weapon, or as Fred had mockingly called it a 'Weasley-repellent' that never really worked.

_It's because your hair is nice. _He had said when she questioned him for the umpteenth time what it was that attracted him to touch it so much. _Sort of._ Maybe it had been just an excuse or a mocking comment. But she had somehow thought it was the honest truth, despite his devious smirk. And her insides had wobbled just a tad.

Once again, she smiled lightly at her train of thoughts. How stupid of her. What was the point of reminiscing those moments that had probably been long forgotten by everybody else?

She put the picture back in her purse and hid it away. It was time for her to leave. Shouldn't she have bought a few flowers though? How forgetful was she? Well, she would go and buy some right away. She didn't mind coming back here again, anyway. Wait, that couldn't possibly be an excuse for her not to leave, could it?

She sighed tiredly and span on her heels. Meeting with a pair of gray-blue eyes took her by surprise and she had to take step backwards.

"Hi."

She blinked incomprehensibly. There he was, her husband-to-be, waving at her with a fond smile on his face. "Wha-?" she swallowed her words and sucked in a deep breath. "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. Or so they say."

He chuckled, digging his hands in his pockets, and walked towards her but somehow keeping a safe distance. "You never were superstitious, 'Mione."

"But you are. Sort of!"

He grimaced comically. "…Maybe."

They both chuckled at how foolish their conversation seemed. She had missed him, just a little. He had been forced to separate from her two days ago for the sake of not seeing her before the wedding and out of his mother's fear of him ruining the wedding preparations.

"Why are you here?" she questioned after a while. He hesitated a little, not because he had no answer, but because he didn't seem keen on unsettling her.

"Am I to ask you the same question?" he replied with a question after a good moment of staring off into space. Her lips parted but no word could be voiced. He smiled sadly and glanced at the tip of his muddy shoes. "It's okay. I feel the same way you do."

She sighed and averted her gaze on the marble stone next to her. "I doubt it…" the whispered words slipped through her teeth so easily that she seemed shocked she had said them. "No, I mean-"

"I know what you mean." That smile was still there. It made her heart ache. He looked so awkward and indecisive that moment. They both fell silent and she felt the great need to hug him and run her fingers through his ginger locks. But something held her back.

"Am I second best, 'Mione?"

She gasped, staring at him round-eyed, her heart momentarily ceasing to beat. The soft look of forgiveness and acceptance in his eyes astounded her. Her eyes started to burn. But she blinked and told herself it was just the raindrops. She couldn't control her breathing.

"Ron…"

He smirked as she breathed his name. "I am, aren't I?"

"Of course not! Why-"

"It's okay, love."

She was about to protest again but somehow the words choked in her throat and she had no voice. She raised a hand to her face, wiping off the tea- the _raindrops_. Why was this happening a few hours before the wedding?

"We could call it off, if you want to." He suggested casually but this time she snapped and her handbag crushed against his chest. He laughingly took a step or two back. "Okay, I get it, I get it!"

"Ronald Weasley, are you trying to anger me a few hours before our wedding on purpose?" her voice was menacing as it usually was every time he teased her a bit too much. He had told her numerous times that it was one of the many things he loved about her.

But _he _had said so as well…

She shook her head, clearing it from every kind of thought and tried to regain her cool. "I'm not willing to put up with your idiocy right now. Not when we're about to get married. And I warn you, try something funny tonight and it will be the last thing you do!"

"How scary!" he mocked but she knew there were times he would be afraid of her mood swings. Unlike his brothers who would keep on messing with her till she started unleashing spells on them. Once she had even given a pig's tail to Fred. Now that had been very satisfactory.

He suddenly looked serious again as he revealed something from his pocket. She held her breath as she realised what it was. He held up the letter between his pointer and middle finger before handing it over to her. She reluctantly accepted it and hoped she wouldn't find her handwriting on it. But she did.

_To Fred. _

That was all that was written on it. Any other words were superfluous. So this is how he discovered she was there. But he hadn't read it. It was still sealed. A wave of relief filled her for a moment.

"You forgot this on your desk. I figured you might need it."

She shook her head. "No. Not really." It was the truth. She never intended of sending it over. "Ron, I…" she swallowed and licked her lips. "I really love you! I do!" She had to say it. She felt as though she were betraying him if she didn't admit it.

"I know, love. So do I. But save it for the wedding, yeah?" And just like that he turned around, about to leave. "Oh, and you know my brothers don't really like flowers, don't you?"

"Eh?" she stared at him puzzled and then remembered. Had she been talking out loud before? No matter, he was right. She didn't say anything, just watched his retreating back until it was lost out of sight. "I'm sorry, Ron. I really do love you."

But the letter in her hands started to burn, despite its now soaked state. She hurried to place it next to its recipient. "You were an idiot, Fred. But so was I." She muttered, suddenly her knees giving into her weight and forcing her to sit next to the marbled stone. "Why did you have to…?" Her voice trailed away. She couldn't find the right words for him. There were so many things that he was the cause of.

He shouldn't have made her feel so torn between them. They were brothers, for Christ's sake! But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, Ron was right. If Fred had been alive and kicking, she wasn't sure if things would have been as they are now. The long gone Weasley had said so many things that had confused her. Through all this teasing, for some reason she had felt as though there was something more there, just waiting for the right moment to be revealed.

"But you never got the chance to, did you, Fred?" she thought out loud, her voice cracking. Why was she torturing herself like this? Ah, that's right. She felt she had to see him one last time before the wedding. She was certain that he was watching from up above, smiling down at them and throwing all over the place annoying comments about her and his little brother.

But that's how she remembered him and how she had once fallen for him. Now those feelings had turned into bittersweets memories.

She placed the letter on his grave under a small rock so the wind wouldn't sweep it away just yet and with her hand, she placed a kiss on the marble. She cracked a sorrowful smile. "Mischief managed."

She couldn't believe she had just said that. But that was probably the only way for her feelings to reach out to him, the man who left his last breath with a smile etched on his face.

* * *

**So... horrible? Despicable? I'll accept any kind of criticism, I swear! **


End file.
